


Let Me Take Care of You

by mitchan



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Horny Teenagers, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Possibly Unrequited Love, Self-Denial, Stancest - Freeform, They're 17, Twincest, Underage Drinking, angsty ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitchan/pseuds/mitchan
Summary: One evening on the beach, Ford crosses a line. He can't help it. He's too horny.(Please read the tags. Don't like? Don't read. The author won't be held responsible for your decisions).
Relationships: Carla McCorkle/Stan Pines, Ford Pines/Stan Pines
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	Let Me Take Care of You

It had been a warm Friday afternoon spent working on the Stan-o-War, and as usual the twins stayed on the beach to watch the sunset. That evening, though, Stan urged his brother to sit in the shadows of the boat, where they could look at the sea and sunset but also be mostly hidden from prying eyes on the beach.

Soon Ford discovered the reason as his twin proudly brandished a six-pack of beer, winking.

“Stan! How did you get this?” Ford exclaimed, between awed and scandalized.

His brother smirked. “Got my ways, Sixer,” he said mysteriously.

Ford rolled his eyes. “What are we celebrating?”

Stan shrugged. “Our very belated birthday? It’s Friday? I finally managed to get a decent fake ID?” he said.

“Well, fine, one won’t hurt,” Ford said, relaxed after hours of hard work and the sea breeze cooling the sweat on his skin.

Between giggles, shoves and Stan’s awful jokes, one beer became two became three. Stan was then talking about Carla, and Ford felt a hot prickle in his belly.

“You went on a date yesterday, didn’t you?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“Yeah… oh, man, we went to the Drive-In movies for a while even!” Stan said, enthusiastic as ever.

“How did it go?” asked Ford, for some masochistic reason, since he generally avoided any and all talk of Stan’s dates (not that he ever shut up about them). Maybe that’s why alcohol was dangerous, Ford mused, as Stan described the play-by-play with nudges and winks and a growing blush on his cheeks which Ford couldn't stop looking at.

“And then she totally let me touch under her bra!” said Stan, proudly smiling despite his blush.

Ford’s mouth felt dry. He took a large sip of his beer. Despite himself, he felt a niggling morbid curiosity. “What was it like?” he asked.

“I dunno. ‘S nice. Soft, but fleshy... an’ warm an’ I, uh, I kinda wanted to bite them, y’know?” Stan confessed, his red blush spreading down his neck, to his chest.

Ford snickered. Stan pushed him. And then Ford grabbed Stan’s chest, fondling his brother’s pecs. “You could bite these too,” he said, tone teasing, and as Stan slapped his hand away, Ford retaliated by tackling his brother into the sand, and they tussled for a bit, weakened by their laughter.

Stan pushed Ford into the sand, holding down his arms, and grinned. “Who’s the strongest twin, Ford? Ya have to say it for me to let go!” he said, right next to his ear.

Stan’s chest was within easy reach of his face, and Ford, acting on impulse, raised his head and pinched one of Stan’s nipples between his lips, squeezing a bit, and just as quickly withdrew his face.

Stan froze above him. And then he let out a short laugh and let Ford go, mussing his hair. “You’re crazy, Sixer,” he said.

“Always surprise the enemy,” Ford said, hoping his voice didn’t betray him.

“I’m _surprised_ you’re such a horn-dog! Just a little boob-talk and you popped a chub!” Stan replied, gesturing to Ford’s pants.

Ford’s hands went to cover his groin and he groaned in annoyance. He doubled up on himself, raising his knees and hugging them, put his head in his arms, breathed in the warm air of his own body.

He felt Stan’s hand on his shoulder, heavy and warm. “You OK, Sixer?” in Stan’s concerned tone.

Ford closed his eyes, concentrated on remembering mathematical formulas, but he couldn’t. To distract himself, he spoke: “I’m conducting an experiment,” he said, voice shaky.

“Huh?” Stan asked, settling down beside him, mirroring his position.

“I’m trying to find out how long I can go without masturbating,” Ford explained. His voice was steadier.

Stan let out a snort of disbelief. “Why would you do that?”

“To improve my control over my mind and body,” he replied.

“So, how long...?” his brother asked.

“Seventeen days,” Ford answered, proud despite everything.

“WHAT? Shit, Sixer, you’re gonna die! I can barely go a day without...”

“I’m aware,” Ford replied dryly. Stan blushed and shoved him.

“How do you do it?” Stan said. “You must be a monk or something.”

“Lots of cold showers. Focusing on mathematical formulas and solving equations in my head also helps. It’s mostly been fine, except for these random, uh, happenings,” Ford said.

“Does it hurt?”

“No… not exactly. It’s just getting harder to- ” Stan sniggered, Ford rolled his eyes.

“Hmm… will it feel better once y’do it, y’think?” Stan wondered out loud.

Ford frowned. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I just wanted to test my self-control.”

There was a moment of silence, both of them listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

Ford rubbed his hands over his eyes and breathed in, out.

“Shit,” he murmured, finally.

“What?” asked Stan.

“It’s not going away,” Ford said, rearranging himself in his pants. His cock was as hard as it had ever been, and it rubbed painfully against his zipper.

Stan huffed out, “Well, that’s what y’get for not doing it for over two weeks. You might be the next Einstein, but you’re still a teenage boy. It’s just not gonna happen.”

“My mind has total control over my body,” Ford repeated his mantra out loud, gritting his teeth, trying to focus on the sound of the waves, his breathing, integrals and derivatives, but his mind kept circling back to the persistent discomfort in his groin.

Stan snorted and leaned over to pinch one of Ford’s nipples, quickly, not hard enough to hurt. Ford let out an embarrassing squeaky sound as his cock twitched in his pants.

“Payback,” said Stan, laughing a bit awkwardly.

“It’s not gonna go away if you do that!” said Ford and his voice sounded strange to his ears, strained and desperate.

“Just rub one out already,” said Stan, shrugging.

Ford sighed, and when he realized it, his hand was already in his pants, and Stan was looking at him with wide eyes.

“Whoa Sixer! Maybe go-”

“Where, Stan? I can’t even walk like this!” he practically whined as he gripped his aching cock in his hand, his other hand fumbling with the zipper, suddenly he couldn’t get his cock out fast enough.

“Yeesh, Sixer, you’re gonna hurt yourself like that,” Stan said, and then he ran off, leaving Ford alone, feeling the cool breeze against his exposed, hot, cock, gasping at the sensation. And then he felt something tapping him on his head, and he looked up to see Stan beside him, holding a bottle of sunscreen.

“Better than nothing,” Stan muttered.

Ford stopped long enough to take the bottle and pour some lotion on his palm.

Stan was still standing beside him, awkwardly hesitant.

“Stan, go away or join in, don’t just _stand_ there,” bit out Ford in annoyance before he could gather his wits. Once out there, the words remained, like an echo, between them, but Ford was beyond caring.

His newly lubricated hand slid up and down his cock and he could only feel a wave of pure relief washing over him. He probably looked ridiculous, face flushed, cock out, wanking like crazy on the lonely beach, in sight of anyone who happened to wander too close to the boat. He couldn’t care less.

Stan still wasn’t moving, and Ford suddenly exclaimed: “Stan, please!”

Silently, Stan sat beside him, his bulk shielding Ford from prying eyes on the beach, the shadow of their boat on the other side, radiating warmth all along the side of Ford’s body.

His twin’s body exerted such a pull, comfortable and familiar, that Ford huddled even closer, slumping his weight on Stan, who had to put his arm around him to hold him upright.

“’S it good?” Stan whispered, his breath ghosting over Ford’s ear, his neck, and he gasped out loud.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. His hands started trembling badly, suddenly, and he grounded himself by grabbing his brother’s thigh.

Stan was so close – Ford could smell his mixture of sweat and cheap cologne, as he felt weeks of pent-up arousal coming to the surface, directing his actions and thoughts as if they weren’t his own – he felt his own hand reaching for Stan’s hand and placing it over his cock as if another being was guiding his actions, Ford no more than a puppet for alien whims.

Stan gasped in his ear, and Ford’s hand was trembling like crazy, trying to move Stan’s hand over his cock and slipping, and then Stan – Stanley, dear Stanley, always surprising him – took Ford’s cock in a firm grasp and started moving, hard and fast.

Stan’s hand – with the normal five fingers, chubby, calloused, soft, _Stan’s_ – felt somehow ten times more incredible on his cock than his own, and Ford felt himself melting in his brother’s arms, whimpering without any regard to discretion, giving all of himself to feeling.

“Fuck you’re crazy,” whispered Stan’s incredulous breath in his ear, and Ford just – came, a string of come falling on the sand between his legs, on his pants, on his brother’s hand, and it just kept on coming as Ford shook and whimpered and gasped.

“Shit, look at all that come, that’s so gross,” Stan said, admiringly.

Stan removed his hand slowly, looking at it with a mixture of disgust and amusement.

“What a mess,” he muttered, his hold on Ford the only thing keeping his boneless frame from slipping down to the sand. Ford closed his eyes, and let himself want to feel Stan’s skin against his own, his lips on his skin, everything he’d been telling himself he didn’t want.

Stan had a tremble in his voice when he spoke next: “We- we can clean ourselves in the sea, it’s cold but not too bad, it’ll be dry by the time we’re home.”

But Ford didn’t want to think of home, going back to normality, he wanted the moment to last forever, and turning his head to burrow further in Stan’s neck, he saw the small, discreet hickey Carla had left there yesterday, and suddenly it was too much for him. He found himself covering it with his mouth, sucking softly at the delicate skin. Stan shoved Ford away, looked at him with wide, bright, scared eyes.

“What’re you doing?” he asked Ford, in a soft whisper.

“I- I just- I wanted to do something for you,” he replied.

“I, you don’t, you don’t need to,” Stan said, but Ford’s traitorous hand was already squeezing Stan’s half-hard cock.

In that moment, there was nothing Ford wanted more than to take it out, look at it, touch it. He wanted Stan to stand up facing the dark planks of the Stan-o-War as Ford knelt in front of him and took Stan’s cock in his mouth, stretching his lips and jaw to the point of pain. Stan could fuck his mouth roughly while Ford welcomed him, grasped his firm ass to take his brother ever deeper until he choked with come, Stan uttering one of those muted, cut-off gasps he usually heard late at night from the bunker bed below him.

“Let me-” Ford started, practically begging, but then Stanley jumped to his feet so fast he almost fell backwards.

“It’s so dark already! It’s horribly late! Dad’s gonna kill us when we get there! We should clean up and go, the water’s gonna be freezing,” he rambled on, back to Ford, as he walked into the sea to wash his hands and arm of sand and come. He took more time than was strictly necessary, especially considering how cold the water must actually be.

“C’mon, Sixer, it’s your turn!” he said in a falsely cheery voice, as he came back to stand beside Ford, keeping his distance, not looking him in the eye.

Ford felt numb, but found himself taking off his shoes and walking into the cold salty water in his pants and shirt. The water was freezing cold and it sobered him up immediately, as he quickly washed out the sticky come, sunscreen and sand. It was true: it was probably after their curfew. Dad might smell the alcohol on their breath. Mum would be angry at their damp, sand-coated and salty clothes. They were going to get in trouble at home.

And yet, as Ford poured some chilly water on his face to sober up, the cold realization started creeping up on him – _what have we done?_

What have _I_ done?

As he turned back to the beach to a brother who couldn’t look him in the eye, the thought struck Ford like a right hook to the face – _had Stan even wanted this_?

Stan had never shown any interest in other boys, only girls. He’d never seemed to reciprocate Ford’s freakish crush.

His brother had always come to his aid when he was in trouble. He’d carried him, cured his wounds, comforted him, talked about their plan to sail the world looking for treasure as if it was the only thing that mattered in his life. Stan would do anything for Ford – he’d even said it, word for word, several times in the past. Did that “anything” include obliging his brother’s sick crush on him, even if he didn’t feel the same way?

Most brothers wouldn’t. But Stan – Ford froze as he realized this – Stan _would_. He’d cross any lines, break any laws, do anything to make Ford happy. Even if it was weird or uncomfortable for him.

Stan wanted to go on a trip around the world with him. Only the two of them. It was his only plan for the future, the only future thing he talked about with any excitement. In order to get it… would he commit incest? Would he let Ford convince him to suck him off, to fuck him? If that was the only way to keep Ford on board with their plan, would he do it?

For a second, horrifyingly, Ford was _tempted_. He was patient, knew hard work, he could push and keep on pushing and Stan would eventually give in. Ford would have him like he wanted, in the end.

Ford looked at Stan, who was walking towards the car in quick steps, shoulders hunched like a heavy burden had suddenly been dropped on his shoulders. Ford recalled Stan’s quick smiles and warm dedication to him, and the idea of taking advantage of that was suddenly, absolutely, completely _horrifying_.

Despite what his sick libido might want, Ford wanted something better for Stan. He deserved a life where he could truly be happy, something Ford would never be able to give him. Stan was a normal kid. He deserved a normal life, a wife, kids, family, somebody he wanted back. He didn’t deserve to be chained to his freakish brother all his life.

Before getting in the car, Ford looked back at the Stan-o-War silhouetted against the starry sky, and felt his boyhood dream fading into a dark, gray place in his mind.

When he got on the car, for a silent, awkward ride home, cold and clammy in his soggy clothes, he felt the resolution building inside him.

They would never be able to travel the world together. Sooner or later, Ford’s resolve would waver, like it did today.

When the time came for him to leave Glass Shard Beach – he would have to do it on his own.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the only Stancest fic I managed to finish. And it's this, for some reason. 
> 
> After a re-read I decided I like it, so maybe some of you will like it too. :D 
> 
> Just don't take it too seriously. XD


End file.
